Long Live the Storm
by knightdawndelight
Summary: AU from 5.04. After Zachariah tortures Dean only Cas is there to look after him and their relationship is changed. Meanwhile, the angels release the seven bowls of God's wrath to make Dean say yes and if that fails they have a more horrific plan.
1. Part 1: Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

_Now the storm is on its way,  
><em>_Coming here to break the day._

_So how can love bare to see you, bare to see you go alone?  
>Black and blue, this beating heart's got the same blood as your own.<br>_

_And I've been to the darkest place you know.  
><em>_**  
>What Remains- <strong>_**Foals.**

There is a scream from inside and Castiel flinches. The physical reaction is not one he is used to. Were he not combating a resilient door and a number of Enochian sigils he might've stopped and pondered over it, perhaps even humanly worried.

Then Dean screams again.

Castiel's boot hits the door this time, kicking once, twice, three times. He ignores the electrical lash of the sigils attempting to repel him. Only when his boot is steaming and the pain is a fire in his very grace does he stop.

He gulps down air (another worrying physical reaction) and curses Zachariah, curses God, but mostly curses himself.

Four hours.

"I just need four hours," Dean had said.

Castiel should never have listened to him, or in the least stood watch over him. It was obvious Zachariah was never going to take no for an answer and would discover another way to find them.

A muffled sound comes from within the motel room. Dean's screams had been loud enough to pierce the wall clean. This is a new sound. Castiel approaches the door and gets as close as he dares to without being forced from his vessel.

Dean is laughing.

The sound stops, starts, wet coughs permitting it but it is still laughter. Cold, bitter, mad, pushed to the edge of a cliff laughter.

Castiel thumps his elbow into the wooden door, his shoulder, his whole body and this, he realizes, is rage; purer then it had been when he'd found Zachariah removing Sam's lungs and giving Dean cancer, white hot and fierce for the sound reminds him of bubbling fire and hollow screams and the soul of a man scattered across the cracked lands of Hell where he had been and was and did torture.

He thought he had left the jutting, rusting rack empty and alone in Hell but Zachariah has raised it up.

"What the fuck is going on?"

A patron of the hotel. Castiel spins on his heels, marches over and presses two fingers to the man's forehead. The human collapses joining the unconscious bodies of the manager and two other nosy patrons.

He is pondering these inconsequential humans who do not understand that the most important man on Earth may be about to break and change the world as they know it when the door opens.

He catches a glimpse of a crumpled body between someone's legs and without thought appears next to it.

He crouches down, fumbles at Dean's neck and finds the butterfly kiss of a pulse. At his touch the human gives a low moan but otherwise wakens no further.

Zachariah turns back from the open door, almost surprised. Castiel moves his hand to the human's arm, ready to disappear in a second.

"I thought you were Sam," the other angel says.

"You thought wrong." Beneath his hand Dean stirs.

"Yes, thank you for making that clear. He's all yours by the way." Zachariah crosses the boundaries of the room and the sigils painted in blood on the walls glow once and disappear.

"Heal him," Castiel demands.

In return Zachariah smiles.

"I don't think so. He must be reminded. No good running around with faulty angels. Right, Dean?"

Castiel looks down. Dean was staring up at him but at the mention of his name his eyes flicker to Zachariah. They narrow.

"See you all later," Zachariah says before disappearing.

Castiel stays tense, waiting for the surprise attack.

"We should go," he says in a low voice verging on a growl.

"No," Dean whispers. "They've given up."

"Dean-"

"No, Cas. Just…" The words trail away. Dean's eyes lose focus and then close altogether as he slips into unconsciousness.

Castiel takes the moment to check Dean's injuries. His face has largely been left untouched apart from a bruise on his left temple.

Further down he may have a broken rib. He lies on his side, circling in on himself. Castiel goes to move the human onto his back to check when Dean gasps and arches into the air.

"Jesus, fuck!" He slams back into the ground again, rolling onto his stomach and pressing his head into the carpet and now Castiel can see.

Dean's t-shirt is ripped and his back is criss-crossed with wounds. Angry red streaks glare at him from Dean's skin except it isn't really Dean's skin anymore. Dean's skin is gone, ripped to shreds, disintegrated beneath a cracking whip.

"What was that for?" Dean groans into the carpet. "Did I kick your puppy or sumfin'?"

"No."

And Castiel won't admit it later but right then he panics. He has never had to physically heal a human before. He can do it with his grace, putting the pieces back together like a jigsaw he's seen Jimmy do with his daughter in memories. But without the full powers of his grace he is useless.

"Dean, what do I do?"

Dean doesn't respond so Castiel turns him on his side.

"What?" Dean's eyes are still closed.

"I don't know what to do."

A green eye cracks open, looks him over before closing again.

"You're kidding right?" The words are slurred from exhaustion.

"I have never healed a human without my grace before."

"Right, 'cause you don't stick around that long."

The words do _not_ hurt.

"I'm here now. Tell me what to do."

"Alright, alright." Dean's hand rubs at his forehead. "Thinking's kinda hard right now. First of all, get the beers from the fridge."

"Now is not the time for drink-"

"I can't think if I'm in pain, Cas. And you'll need it to clean the wounds. Beer is all I got. If you'd given me more time I'd have gone to the bar, won some money on a round of pool and bought a bottle of Jack. But I only got four hours, and you've only got me to tell you want to do. So, Cas, get the beer."

Castiel lowers Dean back onto the ground and hurries to the fridge. There are four bottles left of a six pack. He brings them all over and puts them on the ground where Dean can see them.

"Good," Dean says. "And I was just lying about cleaning the wound. The alcohol percentage isn't high enough but I need a drink."

"I'm not feeding you this stuff!" Castiel protests.

"Yes, you are. Not having the best time here, remember?" And Dean looks up at him with his green eyes and the yellowing bruise on the side of his temple. Castiel curses himself, his weakness.

In answer he unscrews the bottle top and presses it to Dean's lips, tipping the bottle as he does. After a few moments Dean's fingers graze his hand and he pulls it away.

"Now get me up, Parker. To the bathroom."

Castiel hoists Dean to his feet and after much deliberation places Dean's right arm over his shoulder and puts his own left arm around Dean's back, being careful to keep the contact as light as possible.

They leave a patch of blood on the ground.

The bathroom light is too bright for Dean so Castiel has to work in semi-darkness. He arranges Dean in the bathtub lying on his stomach, his head lolling on the edge of the tub. His eyes are barely open and glazed where they are.

"Get a face cloth with soap and water," Dean manages between groans. "And unfortunately this is not going on my face."

Castiel does as he is told and begins applying the cloth to the wounds. They have ripped him to shreds. How Dean's still conscious, even the semi-conscious state he's in is beyond Castiel.

"How did they find you?" he asks to keep Dean focused on something other than the pain.

"Some Christian do-gooder. Angels have given our model shots out to the Unification church and we're the new It girls."

Sometimes Castiel has no idea what idea what Dean is saying. This is one of those times.

He slides the facecloth from Dean's neck, where the skin is pink and tender and still whole, to his shoulder blades where red flesh screams. Dean inhales, a sharp sound in the dark, the edges tinted with a whimper.

"Perhaps you should sleep, Dean. I can take it from here."

He puts down the cloth and shuffles around so that he's in front of Dean's head. He makes to press his fingers to his forehead when Dean flinches, throws himself against the opposite wall and then screams in pain.

The moment is brief but it is all Castiel needs, a slip in Dean's defences, a sudden blast of emotion and Castiel can read him as easily as the day he pulled Dean from Hell and he was just another soul, uncomplicated.

"Don't touch me," Dean hisses, his face not quite pale but an unhealthy grey.

"I didn't do this to you," Castiel reminds him.

"Your brothers did. It may as well have been."

"I defected for you." He doesn't mean to let the growl enter his voice but it seems to work. Dean looks him in the eye, cowed somewhat. "I gave up everything for you."

"Then where the hell were you?"

He knew the question was coming. Dean stares at him, curled on his side, knees beneath his chin in the bathtub. There is a tiny ember of fire in his eyes where the light seeps through the door.

Castiel shifts on his knees and looks down.

"I waited four hours at the roadside, like you asked. By the time I came it was too late. Zachariah had warded the room."

"So you're saying this is my fault?" Dean snaps.

Castiel says nothing.

Shame is heat rising in his face. He can't look up. It is possible this is the first time he has been unable to look into Dean Winchester's eyes.

"I prayed for you." Dean's voice is tiny. The words almost lost in the darkness and something inside Castiel clenches and it isn't because Dean is afraid.

"You-"

"Prayed. I thought you'd hear that."

It's because _he_ is afraid.

"I'm… I…"

He does not stutter. He is angel. But then he also does not flinch or becomes so angry he wants to beat a door to destruction.

When he looks up Dean is still staring at him.

"You okay?" he asks.

"Yes. I'm fine. Can you turn over; I need to tend to your injuries."

Dean doesn't move for a moment, his eyes roving over Castiel's features. Castiel keeps his expression free from emotion and Dean looks away, turns over gingerly and lies still.

When Castiel places a hand on Dean's side, where the skin is intact, to steady them both before he cleans the wounds, the human doesn't flinch. He seems to move further into it, his breathing steadying.

Castiel, more tenderly then he'd been before, slides the cloth of soap and water across Dean's back.

Dean had prayed, and Castiel had not heard him. Something's wrong with him. When Anna had fallen and become human she had tossed her grace aside. But Castiel isn't ready to do that. Is it being taken from him? Seeping away the longer he spends away from the Garrison, away from Heaven.

"They tried torturing me, Cas."

The human is mumbling and perhaps it is because he is delirious but more likely he is trying to fill his mouth with words rather than sounds of pain.

"Stupid sonsofbitches thought it'd work to."

He laughs the laugh of Hell. The one that Castiel had heard clear amongst the chorus of screams.

"You're not tempted to say yes?" Castiel asks.

He touches a particularly tender area where the wound is deep enough that it still dribbles blood. Dean groans, hides his face in his hands before answering.

"Please," he says through gritted teeth, still managing to sound defiant. "Weren't even torture that broke me in Hell."

Castiel pauses.

"Then what was it?"

Dean shifts, his face appearing from behind his hands.

"You've been there, Cas. It says it all in the title. I was going to be there forever. Forever of fear, pain. Forever and never seeing Sam again. I just… I couldn't go on anymore."

They don't talk for a moment. They are filling the sound of the silent bathroom with the echo of Hell.

"Heaven," Castiel says. "Is Heaven because you are one with God. And Hell is Hell because you are as far from God as you can get. Hopelessness is what you felt. Hopelessness is a true removal from God."

Dean's eyelashes flicker and open.

"I'm not really a God person."

"Doesn't mean you can't feel a lack of his presence."

"But I'm not hopeless now. I mean, yeah, everything sucks but I ain't gonna stop fighting. Yet everyone seems to think God is gone."

"Then he mustn't be."

They lapse into silence.

"That makes it worse," Dean says. "Doesn't it?"

"Yes. It seems God doesn't want to be found."

"Or he's some old dude stuck in a coma."

Castiel mulls this over.

"That is a movie reference, right?"

"Got it in one. You learn fast, young Padawan."

He must've pulled a face for Dean says; "forget about it."

He is moving down Dean's lower back now. The wounds are fewer and further between, the whip finding the area harder to reach.

"The idea of God being put into a coma is a ridiculous one. Perhaps even blasphemous."

"So you'd rather believe he just doesn't give a crap? What about the fact that he bought you back?"

"We don't even know that he did."

"Come on, you don't believe that. Raphael was just messing with you, dude."

"I don't know what to believe, Dean." He puts down the cloth and braces his hands against the bathtub. "I'm losing my grace, I can't find God anywhere, and Heaven wants Lucifer out of his cage. I don't know what I am supposed to do anymore. I'm sure there is a human saying in that."

"An old dog can't learn new tricks." Dean turns over, lies with care on his back. "You're losing your grace?"

Castiel looks away.

"Yes."

"How?"

"I don't know. I've finished cleaning the wound. Do you have bandages?"

"Boot of the Impala. Keys are in my jacket."

"I'll be right back."

He's only gone a minute. By the time he returns the bathroom is empty. When he races into the bedroom he calls; "Dean!" in a voice he doesn't quite recognize.

"Right here." Dean gives a wave. He's lying face down on the bed. He turns his head to Castiel, his check pressed to the tartan duvet. His feet sit on the pillows.

Castiel holds up the first aid box that looks nothing like a first aid box. It did once but when Dean was nine and wanted to make his dad laugh he painted it black and wrote 'DEATH' in white block letters. A joke that was never really a joke but a warning from son to father. Inside it's cluttered with half used rolls of bandages and bottles with pills and no labels.

"What do I do?"

Dean has him put huge plasters on his back, the kind where the insides are soft and the outsides rustle. He uses medical tape to keep the plasters on, sticking it down where the skin is soft and whole.

"Cas?" Dean says at one point to which Castiel eternally replies;

"Yes, Dean?"

"We're gonna be okay, aye?"

Castiel holds the plaster down with one hand and rips tape between his teeth. He sticks it to the plaster and stretches it to Dean's skin. There's a hiss from Dean as the material touches the open wounds and then it's gone, Dean covering the sound like a mistake.

"Yes," he answers before placing more tape between his teeth.

Dean drifts in and out of consciousness, his eyes hazy when he opens them to check on Castiel.

"Dean," Castiel whispers some time later when he's finished. "Dean."

"Wha-?" Dean's mouth is full of cotton, his eyes gummy when they open.

Castiel helps him manoeuvre around until his head is on the pillow, not his feet. He pulls Dean's shoes off but otherwise leaves him. He has seen Dean sleep more times on top of the covers then underneath them.

"Cas," Dean says when Castiel leaves to clean the bathroom.

"Yes?"

"Don't go."

Castiel looks into the bathroom where there's still blood in the bath and the cloth in the sink is staining the plastic, tinting the aged cracks like veins in the body.

He goes back to the bed and sits down on the edge.

Dean shuffles over and pats the space next to him. Castiel lies down on his back, staring straight up at the ceiling.

It is quite comfortable. He moves his head further down the pillow so that his neck isn't so stretched and yes, he quite likes that.

When he looks at Dean his eyes are closed, his breathing even, his face smooth of pain and discomfort.

Castiel kicks his shoes off, winces as they thump to the floor and then closes his eyes.

* * *

><p>Dean wakes once in the night, panting, his whole body pulled tight like a cord, the sheets knotted in his fists.<p>

When Castiel turns his head Dean's eyes are bright.

"Okay," Dean mutters and closes his eyes. "Okay."

Dean falls asleep again but when the nightmares return Castiel can do nothing, even when he tries. And when Dean begins to mutter a name over and over again he can stand it no more.

He slides off the bed and begins putting his shoes back on.

* * *

><p>When Dean wakes the next day he's lying on the opposite side of the bed. Castiel is gone, and the warmth he left in the sheets replaced by Dean's.<p>

His back is killing him, not literally, but the pain makes him curl into himself. When he opens his eyes they fall on a glass of water and two pills sitting on the nightstand.

He sits up and takes them, his bandages rustling. There's a sound in the bathroom and for a moment his whole body stiffens.

"Cas?" he calls.

When he was a kid and he walked to whatever home they had from whatever school they were at and he saw the car in the driveway he'd stand at the door with Sammy's hand in his and call a warning through the house; "Dad?" So his dad could be prepared to not be bleeding or dying or dead somewhere inside waiting for Dean to discover him.

The tension he'd feel in those moments before his dad would reply was unbearable, especially with Sam looking up at him expectantly.

Castiel's head pops out of the door.

"Yes?"

"Just wondered where you were," he replies and then remembers last night, the moment of weakness when he'd asked Castiel to stay with him. His face burns and he looks away from the angel's intense blue eyes.

"You ready to go?" he asks.

Castiel looks back into the bathroom before answering. "Where are we going?"

"Bobby's. The sooner we get out of this town the better."

He slides off the bed and stands up. His wounds burn and the wince shows on his face for Castiel frowns.

"It is probably best we leave soon," Castiel agrees.

"Yeah. You seen my phone?"

Castiel points to a pile of crushed metal and Dean remembers attempting to text him while Zachariah had warbled on about responsibility and yadaya, with the phone still in his pocket. Suffice to say Zachariah wasn't that stupid.

"Damn. We're raking up a phone bill then."

"Who are you going to ring?"

"Sam."

He says it a little too casually.

Castiel's eyes slide over his face a few times and Dean adds;

"He's Lucifer's vessel."

"I thought so."

"You thought so?" Dean splutters. "And you didn't think to tell me this."

"Sam has a good heart, Dean. If it is a little tainted. He will not go along with Lucifer's plan."

"Did you not think, perhaps, that they'll find him and torture him, like they did me only a thousand times worse?"

Castiel doesn't look away from him.

"Lucifer cannot find him."

"And what about Meg, or some other demon? She found us pretty quickly after whoever zapped Sam and me on that plane."

"Dean, I do not worry about Sam saying yes to Lucifer. He has learnt his lesson. I only want to keep you safe."

"I told you," Dean replies through gritted teeth. "I'm not going to say yes."

Castiel studies him for a few seconds more before moving away. He brushes past Dean and stands by the window.

"Conversation over?" Dean bites before turning back to the phone.

He dials the number.

"A little privacy, please?"

The sound of wings fills the room and for a moment Dean hesitates, but it's too late.

"Hello?"

"Sam, it's me."

"Dean." There's a pause. He can hear the cogs in Sam's head tick over. "I thought we were keeping our distance."

"Stop making it sound like a break up. Anyway, I knew you'd be missing me. I thought I'd ring and…"

And what? Say that he'd make a mistake and he couldn't do this without Sam because the damn angel's had thrown him back to the rack and the whips? Say that he was sorry?

He was so damn sick of apologizing to Sam just as he was sick of Sam apologizing to him. But what else could they say? They'd fucked up majorly.

"Are you okay? Dean, what's wrong?"

Dean laughs.

"Can't keep anything from the wonder kid. Zachariah found me last night."

"You got away?"

"Nah, he gave up. Couldn't torture me into saying yes."

There's another pause. Cogs working.

"Dean," Sam says, a sigh within a sigh. "Zachariah would not just give up."

And, yeah, that's been bugging the hell out of Dean.

"Just… meet me at Bobby's? We gotta find out what's going on and I… I…"

"I know," Sam replies softly. "I'll be there in a few hours. Will you be okay?"

"Yeah, Cas is here. If I haven't pissed him off. See ya later."

"Bye."

* * *

><p>Castiel deigns to join him for breakfast at a diner. But not before he makes Dean wait in the car while he scopes out the place.<p>

The fight between them seems to have been forgotten, or forgiven, or just plain left alone and that's fine with Dean. He doesn't want to start another grudge like he and Sammy have just been through.

When Castiel returns, zapping straight into the passenger seat, Dean jumps.

"We good?" he asks.

"Yes. I have cast an enochian sigil in the men's bathroom."

Dean raises an eyebrow.

"I'm meant to eat in the bathroom?"

Castiel almost rolls his eyes. Almost because he doesn't actually but the face he pulls is the equivalent of an eye roll.

Dean gets out the car and shuts the door.

"You're getting a little paranoid, ya' know that? It's like road tripping with Jason Bourne. They can't find me, remember? You carved the sigils into my ribs."

"You have an unusual car," Castiel replies, shutting his own door. Dean locks it and they walk to the diner.

"Well thank you. I'll take that as a compliment."

"You shouldn't. They will notice it too."

There's a bell above the door which rings when they open it. Castiel glares at it like all the angel in the vicinity will have heard it and assumed it's them.

"Couldn't we have got a 'drive-through'?" Castiel asks as they sit down at a booth.

Dean picks up the menu and scans it. He feels like something meaty.

"Nope."

"Well how long until we get to Bobby's?"

Dean puts the menu down. A waitress talking to some customers notices immediately and walks over.

"You're just all questions today aren't you. 'Bout four hours."

"Hello boys, what can I get you?" She smiles a little too widely, revealing the pink gum in one side of her mouth.

"I'll have the bacon, eggs, beans and toast breakfast, and a coffee."

She notes it down.

"And what can I get you?"

Castiel hasn't even opened his menu.

"He'll have the same," Dean answers for him and the waitress winks at him and walks away. The skirt she's wearing is just a little too short for someone that old.

"I don't need to eat, Dean." Castiel's forehead is actually creasing that's how confused he is.

"C'mon, dude. Just try a little. And if you don't like it, I'll have it."

"It is not good for you."

"What are you saying? I'm fat?"

"No," Castiel says without meeting his eyes. "But you will be."

Dean laughs.

He picks the menu up and scans the pie section. Maybe he'll take a pie for the road. Bobby's good for the basics but never seems to like dessert. No ice cream, or cake, or pie. He knows how much Dean likes pie.

"You might like it anyway. Maybe I should've started you on food and then worked my way up to the prostitutes. Gluttony is a lesser sin then lust, right Cas?"

Castiel isn't paying him attention. He's busy watching the TV behind Dean's head. A pretty girl's standing in front of a farm house, the bulky microphone covering up half her cleavage which leaves Dean very unimpressed.

"-police haven't ruled out foul play yet but Sheriff Dagenham has suggested his doubts. The scale of the crop failures is perhaps too large."

A man pops up, sitting in the studio taking up the one half of the screen. "Have there been any regular droughts?"

"There hasn't been one for five years. I talked to one of the farmers earlier today and he said that the police had come round to test the water so perhaps we'll find some answers there."

"Crop failures," Castiel says and Dean turns back around.

"Demons?"

"It appears that the crop failures were within a hundred mile radius of the city of Indianola. I would agree with that deduction."

"Excellent. Guess we're going to Indianola."

"No."

Dean looks up but's prevented from saying anything by the waitress bringing their coffees. He reaches into the middle of the table for a packet of sugar and smiles a thank you at her.

"What do you mean no?" he hisses across the table when she's gone.

"You're injured, Dean. I can't risk anything happening to you. If you'd like I could take you to Bobby's now and then investigate the demons myself straight away."

Dean rips the sugar open and pours in into his mug.

"Oh, so you can drive now?"

Castiel glowers, more at the coffee then him. Dean hands him two packets of sugar and gives him the look of 'trust me'.

"That's not what I meant."

"Indianola's like an hour away and I need my car for when you go on your God quest, Cas. Stir the sugar in."

Castiel picks up the teaspoon, tilts his head to one side and then, having decided where he wants to put the spoon dips it in and stirs, barely making ripples.

"Harder than that," Dean scoffs. He takes a sip of his coffee and immediately feels a hell of a lot better. The headache echoing from the bruise on the side of his head will probably get worse but at least he'll make the journey to Indianola.

"I don't think I will be continuing with my 'quest'." Castiel puts the spoon down and looks up at Dean.

"Yeah? I mean, are you sure? It kinda seemed to mean a lot to you."

Castiel sighs and he almost looks his age, minus a few thousand years. It makes Dean wonder, if Cas is losing his grace is he becoming human? Will he need sleep and food now? It's probably a good thing he's making Cas eat. He might even have to teach him how to wash and god knows what else.

"It seems fruitless. Especially with far more important things happening here."

"Like what, man? Lucifer is keeping a surprisingly low profile."

"Zachariah."

Dean sighs.

"He should not have let you go." Castiel is deathly serious. He's sitting so straight in his seat there must be a poker up his arse and he hasn't even frowned at the coffee once in the last few minutes.

"That's what Sam said."

"Zachariah is ruthless and will never give up. I fear he is preparing for something else."

"So what are we gonna do about it? We don't have a clue what he's planning and we won't know until he makes his move. But Indianola we can do something about. Let's go and kill some demons."

Castiel sighs this time, picks up his coffee and finally drinks it. He spits it right back out again.

"More sugar," Dean says and hands him another packet.

* * *

><p>A hundred miles outside of Indianola the land is dead. One second it is lush green and then it's brown. More disturbingly they can see the bend as it forms a perfect circle around the city.<p>

People are standing on the side of the road beside their parked cars taking photos. It's not really that exciting unless you're a Hunter and even then…

"It's too obvious," Dean says, one hand on the wheel and the other on the door frame, the window open. "Demons aren't known for their subtlety but this is a neon sign _and _naked, dancing ladies."

"I don't see what this has to do with naked dancing ladies." Castiel all but sniffs in disdain. "But I see your point."

They cruise the streets of the small city for a few hours, keeping their eyes peeled for any signs. These things have a habit of falling into their laps so actually looking is a nice change. Maybe it means every demon under the sun isn't gunning for the Winchester's and co.

By the time dusk comes Dean's getting cramp and the magic pills Cas gave him are losing their trick. He asks for some more and suggests they stop for the night, get a motel room and watch some T.V.

Castiel hands over the pills but declines the invite and disappears without another word.

Dean turns the car around; deciding the bar they'd passed earlier is a much better option.

Something's going on with the angel. Through the haze of pain that covers most of his memories of the night before Dean can remember Castiel telling him about losing his grace and his powers.

It worries him. Having an angel on the team helps more than he's ever going to be willing to say. But then again would it really matter? As long as Cas is there he feels safer, something to do with his calm nature perhaps.

He pulls into the bar parking lot and gets out. There are at least ten cars along with his and inside it's busy, patrons sitting at tables chatting. Most of them look the wrong side of forty but Dean perks up when he sits down at the bar and a young girl walks over to serve him.

"Hi there, what can I get you?" Her accent's Californian, her skin tanned but her hair's jet black and cut in a bob, her eyes darkened by makeup. Beneath it all she's still hot, a slender face and supple lips.

"Just a beer, thanks. You're not from around here."

"Neither are you," she replies and it's defensive. Dean kinda likes that.

"I came to hear about the crop failures."

She pauses mid pour, eyebrow raised. "To the bar or the city?"

"Both. I sort of investigate strange phenomena."

She laughs, her teeth stark white against bright red lipstick and sun-kissed skin.

"That's… different."

She slides his beer along the bar and he takes a sip before gulping down almost half the glass. He hadn't realised how thirsty he was until right then.

"Thirsty?"

"Just a little. So what brings you to these parts?"

"Oh no." She shakes her head, her hair falling out from behind her ears. "I want to hear more about this weird job of yours. Do you work alone?"

"I have a partner He's my…" He was going to say brother. Castiel is most definitely not his brother.

He's looking for the right word when the girl leans forward, hands braced on the bar and hisses in his ear; "where's Sammy, Dean?"

He jerks back, sliding off the bar stool. He's barely on his feet when a gunshot goes off and he ducks. A man standing in a doorway behind the bar is holding a shotgun, his eyes black.

"Everyone OUT!"

There's a scramble for the door, some woman is screaming and Dean tries to lose himself amongst them, twisting into the crowd when a hand wraps around his arm and hauls him back.

He's slammed into the bar and his wounds ignite, pain rising like acid all along his back. His mouth opens in a silent scream but he holds it back, unwilling to show weakness.

When it passes he finds himself face to face with four demons and the bar girl, eyes as black as ink. They surround him; the older man with the shotgun keeps his finger on the trigger, his face stony.

He addresses the Californian girl first.

"Which pissed off chick are you this time?"

She smiles, revealing those white teeth to be pointier then he'd noticed before.

"I'm the one who led your brother off the beaten track."

"Ruby," he murmurs and white hot rage boils inside of him. "How are you alive?"

"Daddy's back, Dean-O, and there isn't much he can't do. Now, are you going to answer my question?"

Dean smiles and rolls his neck. The pain of his wounds is fading down to a drumming beneath the skin, nothing he can't handle. He flexes his shoulders and rolls his hands into fists and he likes the way the demon's notice and take a step toward him.

"Unfortunately for you, Sam and I broke up."

"Aww shucks," Ruby says. "Did I perhaps have something to do with that?"

"Well, yes I think you did."

He launches himself at Ruby, knowing it's stupid and futile but not caring anyway. He can't stand to look at her smile any longer and know what she did to Sam, what she did to them both.

Two demon's haul him back before he can land a punch. Ruby's laughing and it makes him fight harder but they slam him against the bar and the pain is almost too much, he doubles over, struggling for breath.

"Sam won't be coming for me, Ruby," he spits. "Don't even bother."

"We both know that's a lie."

"He doesn't even know where I am."

"That can be changed. I have orders to bring you both in."

Dean stills his struggles. The demon's grip loosens but holds him in place.

"Why me?"

"Ohhh," Ruby hums. "So you know that Sam is Lucifer's vessel, which means you must've talked recently. You're not very good at concealing information are you, Dean, and I haven't even started with the torture yet."

She pulls a switchblade from the pocket of her jeans and flicks it open. Dean keeps his eyes on Ruby's face.

"Lucifer," she continues. "Would find it very useful to keep Michael's vessel around."

"So you're going to kill me." It isn't a question.

Ruby moves towards him, her steps long and her gaze lingering. The restraining hands on his arms tighten but he doesn't move against them.

It seems every angel and demon under the sun is out to torture him this week.

She stops a foot in front of him, raises the knife and draws it across his cheek. He hisses. The cut is shallow, a dribble of red in the corner of his eye. She pulls the knife down further, over his chin and down his neck.

"I wish that were the case," she says. "But we know the angels would only bring you back to life whether we burn the body or not. There are other uses for you though, mostly involved in breaking Sam."

She leans forward and whispers in his ear; "we'll still have our fun, Dean."

She slashes at his arm, cutting the fabric and there's a burst of blood. He chokes back a scream and thinks of the drumming on his back, focuses his mind on that consistent pain.

"Fuck you."

"Your retorts are getting worse."

She slashes at his chest and he rebounds into the demons who hold him steady.

Ruby cuts again and again, his chest, his arms, across his collar bone until he's sure he's going to see white, a bloody line from his ribs to his navel and around it. The only way he doesn't make a sound is because he's holding his breath.

His t-shirt is torn to shreds, speckled with red and hanging from his frame. His boxers are peeking above his jeans and Ruby stops at the waistband and looks back up at him, a smirk dripping from her lips.

"I wouldn't go down there, sweetheart."

"Yes, Dean's infamous junk."

He closes his eyes then, a sign of weakness he immediately regrets but he's praying as loud and as hard as he can.

"Not infamous," he grits out. "Famous."

"All the same; I'm sure it doesn't live up to its reputation."

She makes to slice at his belt and this time there's an inadvertent noise growing in the back of his throat.

Then there's a flash of light.

The two demons release their grip on him. He glimpses Ruby spinning around but he's falling to his knees, head bowed and eyes squeezed shut against the onslaught.

Ruby's yelling and when the orange fades from his eyelids and he looks up there's a shotgun pointed at his face.

He throws himself to one side. The bullet thuds into the wood behind him and when he jumps to his feet Castiel has grabbed the shotgun and is wrenching it from the demon's grip.

He smashes the butt into the demon's nose and then kicks him into the chest. The demon flies back and Dean yells out, throws Ruby's old knife through the air. Castiel catches it and starts back at the demon.

Dean almost doesn't see Ruby until it's too late. He ducks the chair she swings at his head and it flings from her grasp. He takes her kick to the rib and stumbles backwards, catches the fist aiming for his face and knees her in the stomach.

When she looks up him her teeth are bared, her skin reddening with fury. He punches her, a crack of bone beneath his fist and she begins to fall back. Her limbs flail, a hand catches his t-shirt and she pulls him down to.

He goes headlong into a table.

He comes to on the floor, rocking with the force of a punch. Ruby's straddling him.

"Guess what, Dean," she hisses and her eyes are manic even with the blackness. "This is Sam's favourite position."

She raises the knife above her head and he has time to wonder if there's going to be a flash of convenient lightning to reveal her madness.

Castiel appears from nowhere.

His palm slams down on her forehead and the knife catches beneath her throat. Red sprays across Dean's face.

There's a moment of blankness where he thinks he hears Alistair's laugh and then Castiel is pulling Ruby's body off him. He gulps down air and sits up.

The bar is all but destroyed. Tables and chairs are broken and scattered. Five bodies lie just as broken and blood's sinking into the wooden floors, filling in the aging cracks.

"Are you okay?"

Castiel is standing in front of him, holding out a hand.

Dean takes it and climbs to his feet.

"Fine. You?"

Castiel nods.

They survey the damage for a minute when a siren sounds in the distance.

"We should go," Dean says and the next second Castiel places a hand on his shoulder and they're sitting in the Impala looking at a crowd standing beneath the orange light of a street lamp.

Dean fits the key in the ignition and starts the engine.

"So you heard my prayer then?"

Castiel starts and stares at him.

"No," he says and his shoulders slump. "No I did not."

"Oh. You just turned up right after I did. I kinda assumed."

He pulls out of the car lot and they pass two police cars on the road. He guns it when they're safely past.

"At least we got rid of the demons."

"They were not the problem."

"What do you mean? The crop failures, those are demonic signs, and I distinctly remember just getting Hannibal Lector-ed on. All demon crap."

In fact his wounds are still bleeding. He doesn't even have to say anything; Castiel leans into the back and drags the first aid box onto his lap.

"The demons did not arrive in the city until this afternoon," Cas says as he flicks the box open. "Long after we did. They laid traps around the town. I tripped one looking for you at the motel. The bar was my second choice of where you'd be."

"Well how'd they know we'd be here and what killed off all the crops?"

"Perhaps for once this is not a supernatural problem."

Cas is holding a sponge and he presses it to the cut on Dean's arm, soaking up the blood. When he's done he puts a plaster on it.

"No." Dean shakes his head. "There's something going on-"

His phone begins to ring and he fumbles in his jacket for it, brushing off Castiel's sponge.

"-I know it, trust me."

"Dean." Sam's voice. "It's me."

"Hey, yeah sorry I didn't call I got a bit caught-"

"Dean, its Lake Michigan."

He glances at Castiel. The angel's opened the window and is getting rid of the bloody sponge, a look of curiosity on his face. He looks at back at Dean and the expression disappears, replaced by worry.

"What about Lake Michigan?"

"It's turned into blood."


	2. Part 1: Chapter 2

**A/N: **So, this chapter includes my very first sex scene. Which I'm pretty nervous about but I love criticism. I thrive on it. And I love to improve, so anything you wanna say, go for it.

**Warnings for M/M graphic sex, mentions of rape.**

**Chapter Two**

_Then I heard your heart beating, you were in the darkness too.  
>So I stayed in the darkness with you.<em>

_**Cosmic Love- **_**Florence and the Machine.**

_**Then:**_

"_**Dean, its Lake Michigan."**_

"_**What about Lake Michigan?"**_

"_**It's turned into blood."**_

_**Now:**_

When Dean pulls over Castiel lays a hand on his arm and they disappear in a rustle of wings.

"Did you just fly somewhere?" Sam says in his ear, still on the phone.

Dean doesn't answer him. They've landed amongst a grove of trees and bushes, the scent of orange on the air. He moves out of Castiel's touch, pushing aside branches and scraping through long grass towards the edge of the lake. When he steps out of them there's a soft sand like substance beneath his shoes. Not quite sand but not squelchy enough to be mud. It's slippery and firm and too dark to make out. All he can see is that there are little pebbles imbedded in it, glowing.

He drops to his knees and reaches to the water. He can't see the colour of it. The night turning it to a black substance like demon eyes, a void of nothingness.

What he touches isn't water. But it isn't liquid either. He yanks his hand back, peers into the darkness and realizes it's a dead fish. And then he realizes he's kneeling on dead fish and they're everywhere, their eyes little globes in the dark which he had thought were pebbles.

"Dean?" Sam, still trying to speak to him.

"I'll call you back," Dean says and hangs up before Sam can protest.

Cas moves past him, shoes stepping on the fish until he finds water, like he can't feel the biting cold that even Dean can feel radiating from the lake. The bottom of his trousers wrinkles and darkens. When he crouches down to touch it the beige of his coat turns crimson.

Dean's fingers find the lake of blood and come away tainted red.

He steps back and moves to the safety of the trees. When he looks left Chicago lies mirrored by the lake, bright and busy. Hundreds of thousands of people pressed to the piers and the bridges watching the lake and wondering what it means.

When Castiel turns back to him, the bottom of his coat dripping, he's horrified. His hands curl at his side and his face drawn. To an outsider he would appear detached but Dean can read him.

Castiel stops beside him, his back to the lake.

"They have done this," he says in a low voice. "My brothers."

"But this is demonic. Lakes of blood always equals demonic."

"I suppose you have experience with this then?" Castiel bites, the edges of the words sharp like knives. His shoulders instantly slump and he faces Dean.

For a moment they don't do anything.

Then Castiel's fingers find his forehead and they're sitting in the Impala on the side of the road.

"In the Book of Revelation," Castiel says. "Seven angels are given seven bowls containing the wrath of God. The first creates a sore upon the Earth; the crop failures in Indianola. The second turns the sea to blood and every living thing within it dies; Lake Michigan."

"You think-"

Castiel nods before he can finish the question.

A car goes past. The headlights illuminate Castiel's face, reflecting off the angel's blue eyes. His lips are pulled in a tight line, his forehead furrowed.

"It would explain why Ruby got to Indianola after us," Dean says. "It's still all too low-key though. You guys have the power to turn all seas to blood, destroy all crops. Why not? Why only these places?"

Castiel's eyes flicker to him. His expression doesn't change.

"You," he says.

"They're trying to draw me there?"

"No. It is a warning, Dean."

Dean stares at him.

"I haven't been to Chicago in years."

"It is the largest body of water near you."

His phone goes off in his pocket. Sam's name on the caller ID but he doesn't pick it up. The instrumental part of 'Ramble On' fills the car.

"Zachariah," he says when Sam gives up.

"Yes."

"You said he wouldn't leave me alone. Sam said it."

Castiel says nothing and that's all Dean needs.

Dean can't look at him anymore. He fits the key in the ignition and starts up the engine. He needs to leave his thoughts on the asphalt, trailing in the wake of the squeal of wheels and the roar of the engine.

* * *

><p>The red and blue lights startle Dean. They've been driving with nothing but the Impala's headlights to shine their way. All they saw was the flicker of steady white lines and concrete, the shadows of trees and bushes and the occasional distant grey shade in the shape of windows and doors.<p>

Except maybe Cas, if angel's have night vision. Yet he seems much more interested in the stars.

There's a cop car ahead and as Dean pulls closer the trees thin out and reveal houses, lit up with curtains and doors open to spill the light onto the road. People stand in them, gripping their night clothes.

The cop car's stopped outside one of the houses alongside an ambulance and as Dean pulls up alongside it Cas says;

"Stop."

"Why?"

Then he catches a glimpse of Castiel's face.

"You think…?"

He doesn't want an answer. Instead he stops beside the cop car where a sheriff leans against it, head on his chest like he's sleeping but when he looks up at them his expression is grave.

"I'd be driving straight on through this town, boys," the sheriff says. "Don't stop here."

"What happened?" Castiel asks and the sheriff scans him for a moment. Then his face softens, his shoulders slump.

Behind the sheriff a gurney rolls out of the house. Dean can make out a tiny body on top, hidden by a blanket, and a woman, blank faced and silent, follows after it. He knows that look. Years of turning up days, hours, months after a murder, a death, almost makes him immune to it.

Almost

The sheriff turns back to them.

"Eric Simmons," he whispers. "Four years old. Got up to get a glass of water. His mum heard the glass smash."

"Poisoning?" Castiel asks and Dean's surprised at the softness of his voice, the sympathy in his eyes.

The sheriff shrugs.

"Town like this," he says. "…you'd never think it."

He turns and walks away from them, towards the ambulance and the stony-faced mother. She doesn't react at all even when he hugs her and Dean catches her gaze over his shoulder but her eyes are a hundred miles away.

"This is another one of those God's bowls of wrath things, isn't it?"

He can't even look at Castiel.

"I believe so. Yes."

The sheriff steps back and the woman climbs into the back of the ambulance, the doors swing shut. The neighbours stand in remembrance as the ambulance passes their houses by and Dean thinks of that part of the Bible Pastor Jim read him and Sammy, about the plague passing over the houses of the Israelites who painted their doors with lamb's blood.

"Poison the water," Dean murmurs and then louder; "To kill a four year old kid? Wow, God's wrath, really picking on a guy same size as him, huh."

"This is not Gods doing," Castiel replies.

Dean waves him down.

"Yeah, I got it. It's just the angels. What are we gonna do about it is what I wanna know?"

"The angel who poured forth this bowl may still be in the vicinity."

"So what." Dean turns to face Castiel, turning off the engine. "We call him down. Get a little payback."

"We could try and talk to him."

Castiel thumbs at a loose piece of cotton on his trousers and then looks up to meet Dean's look.

"He may know where they will attack next," Castiel says and then turns back to the loose piece of cotton.

"Cas."

"Yes, Dean."

And Dean opens his mouth but he can't say anything. He can't admit to this warped feeling inside of him, one he's so used to but which is now acidic in his stomach, fresh with the image of the four year old boy just a shape beneath a blanket.

"Dean?"

Dean looks away from the angel and opens the glove compartment, hands him the FBI badge he made him a few weeks ago and takes his own.

"What are we doing?" Castiel asks.

"I don't know yet. But I'm sure as Hell not letting your buddies upstairs get away with this. So I'm gonna treat this like any other case and do all the boring-arse research Sammy usually does and go about this the right way."

He pauses for breath, catches the angel studying him out of the corner of his eye and says more steadily;

"Okay?"

And Castiel says nothing except for a swift nod.

* * *

><p>A few hours later a man drives into town, opens his car door and promptly dies, the upper half of his body spilling down onto the road. His right foot is still on the brake.<p>

They managed to warn everyone in the small town not to drink the water. Everyone except him.

Sheriff McLaren, the one who told them about Eric Simmons, swears up and down that he forgot the man was out there, he'd only bought the old wreck of a house he lived in a month ago and he barely ever ventured into the town.

Dean and Castiel volunteer to go out to the man's house and take a look. It's nine am. The sun is beating down like nobody's business and Dean's already removed his tie and the top button of his shirt.

The house is up a road that winds through the hills, heavily guarded by oak trees. It's a small place, a front porch and one big living area with doors into the one bedroom and one bathroom.

It's the kinda place Dean can imagine having one day; when he's a crazy, paranoid old bastard with a few screws loose and a shotgun. That's if he survives that long.

"This is good," Castiel says after he's surveyed the kitchen. "We can summon the angel from here."

"You'll think he'll still be hanging around?" Dean asks as he dumps their supplies on the kitchen bench; a map of the area bought from the local gas station, a lighter, a bottle of Holy oil, one angel sword and one magic knife. Not that it'll do much good.

Castiel takes the map and opens it up, lays it flat on the bench.

"Perhaps," he says as he pushes out the creases.

Dean creates three circles of holy water on the floor, one by the door, another in the living room, the third behind Castiel in the kitchen. He pulls off his suit jacket afterwards and settles into a chair, his feet on the dining table.

Castiel braces himself on the bench, staring at the map, his forehead drawn.

"Now what?" Dean asks when Castiel does nothing.

"Now I use a demon technique to find the angel," Castiel says and he closes his eyes. He begins to chant in Enochian. Dean understands a word or two from the spells he and Sam have done but most of its gibberish.

Still, coming from Castiel's mouth there's something so holy about it that Dean doesn't move a muscle, just stares at his angel. The way Castiel forms the words, his cracked lips softening, and the continuous sound he makes in the back of his throat, a serene hum, his eyes closed like its ecstasy.

And now that he's thinking with his brain it isn't holy. Not in the least.

Flames spring up from the map and Castiel doesn't move, continues to chant. Dean puts his feet back on the floor, ready to launch at a moments notice.

The flames engulf the map, tearing at its edges until they float away in blackened ashes. Castiel's palms hover above the flames, moving around the map and his skin is beginning to redden.

Dean holds his breath, doesn't move but Castiel doesn't notice that his skin is burning. Dean can take it no longer, he darts forward and grabs Castiel's wrists, holds his palms away from the flames.

The angel's eyes don't open.

He stops murmuring and the map has all but burnt to nothing except for a small round piece. It shows a road with no name, a thin blue line surrounded by green.

"Brother." Castiel's voice is low. His eyes flicker back and forth beneath their lids. "I have found you. You cannot hide from me."

There's a pause in which Dean imagines the other angel is replying.

"You have killed a young boy!" Castiel exclaims in anguish. In Dean's hands the tendons in Castiel's wrists tighten. "Not to mention another man. I think that is enough!"

Castiel listens again but he's growing more agitated, pulling at Dean's grip but he holds on to the angel almost without realizing it.

"Why have you done this? What purpose is there in these unnecessary deaths? We have enough death with Lucifer walking free and the apocalypse upon us. You follow orders brother but you do not think what the outcome may be! Think for yourself!"

Castiel's eyes burst open. He begins to fall backwards but Dean pulls him back across the bench. They stay there, Castiel panting, his eyes still closed.

"Cas?" Dean says softly. "You okay?"

"I am fine," Castiel says but he hardly sounds it. "I think I have angered him."

"No shit. He did a real mind whammy on you."

"He has. My grace is certainly diminishing."

He sighs.

"I would have been able to withstand him otherwise."

"Yeah but you wouldn't have been able to, what was it, thought for yourself."

Castiel smiles. His eyelids flutter open, wet blue staring back at Dean. He looks down at the map and his wrists and Dean stares down to.

It's a second before he lets go but when he does the imprint of his thumb is left in Castiel's skin.

"I need to sit down."

Dean hovers as Castiel makes his way to the couch. The angel sat down, squeaking on the leather, and leant his head back, his eyes closed again.

"Do you think he'll turn up?"

"Perhaps," Cas murmurs and that is all.

Dean spends an hour cleaning his weapons, pacing the floor and peeling back layers of clothing. The heat is another coating of skin, sweaty and sticky and he can bare it no more. It's not even midday.

It makes him sleepy, that and the fact that's he been non-stop for over twenty-four hours. He takes another one of Castiel's magic pills, pulls off his t-shirt and walks back into the living area.

Castiel hasn't moved, his eyes shut and his mouth slack, the skin around his eyes and on his forehead softer then Dean has seen it for a long time.

"Cas?" He whispers but it seems the angel has gone to sleep for the first time ever.

It reminds Dean of the angel's fear of falling, of becoming human. This is just another facet of that.

Dean sits on the edge of the sofa. The way Cas is leaning will probably give him a crick in his neck and put him off sleeping again.

Dean sidles up next to him, rearranges the pillows and leans back. He places a hand on Cas' cheek and guides the angel's head down onto his shoulder.

Castiel murmurs, shifts his head a little and then settles.

Dean to closes his eyes and sleeps.

* * *

><p>The world is grey. It's like dusk but without the awesome colours. He could've sworn it had been sunny when he'd fallen asleep. Sunny and overwhelmingly hot.<p>

It's still boiling and he's extra sweaty like he's been dreaming of Hell.

On his shoulder Castiel shifts and opens his eyes. They're murky with sleep but he blinks and rubs them and they return to their usual colour.

He lifts himself from Dean's shoulder and says; "I didn't sleep."

Dean raises an eyebrow.

"Really? Could've sworn we just did and for ages by the looks of it."

Castiel eyes Dean like he's lying and Dean stares right back at him, daring to say that he is.

"I don't sleep," Castiel says in his low, angel voice that gives Dean the creeps as much as it sends these strange little, non-creeped out shivers up his spine.

They're sitting really close together and that should freak Dean out like it used to but he doesn't want to move, even though Cas is stealing his air and then talking into it, breathing unneeded warmth all over Dean.

He wants Cas to lie back down on his shoulder. He wants to be so close to Cas that they're… they're… He just wants to be close to him. Maybe it's something to do with not having the safety net of his brother around or he's feeling a little vulnerable since Zachariah stripped his back of skin and all but declared Hell in a hotel room.

He doesn't know but he doesn't want to move.

Yet he does. He jumps up from the mould he's made in the sofa and looks for something, anything to fill his hands.

"Why are you not wearing a shirt?" Castiel says.

"Oh." Dean looks down. "It's really hot. Haven't you noticed?"

Castiel thinks this over, teeth biting at his bottom lip.

"Yes," he finally answers with a resounding nod. "I suppose it is."

Dean starts looking for his t-shirt, feeling a little uncomfortable now that Castiel's pointed it out. When he comes back into the living area, pulling it back on, Castiel's head is bowed, his expression grave.

"The fourth bowl," he says. "Was poured on the sun 'and it was allowed to burn people with its fiery heat.'"

Dean stares at him. He feels a tremble start in his hands and he clenches them, digs his nails into the sweaty palms.

Castiel looks up.

"It is not the only bowl at work here," he says.

"I know," Dean replies and he has to grit his teeth to stop himself from saying something stupid. "The poisoned water."

"No." Cas stands up. "It is not night."

"Then what do you call this?"

Castiel holds out his left arm. Jimmy's watch reads three pm.

"Your watch is broken," Dean informs him.

"Dean we slept five hours, not ten. This is the fifth bowl. Darkness."

"No."

Castiel doesn't say anything. His blue eyes stare straight through Dean and Dean looks out the window where the world is grey.

"Sonofabitch."

"I fear that I may have provoked them."

Dean strides to the front door and throws it open. His boots thud on the deck and he stops. He can't see the sun. It's like the sky's covered in grey clouds except the grey clouds are everywhere, not just in the sky but on the grass, amongst the trees, pressed up to his eyeballs and it's getting worse; with every second he stands there staring it grows darker.

"Dean."

Dean turns around to Castiel in the doorway.

"Can you see?" Dean asks.

"The world is darker but it will never get too dark for me."

"Well that's great."

He swivels back to the world.

What does he do? The world is getting darker and it's the angels, willingly sending them to blindness and helplessness. How does he stop the might of Heaven when he's only a stubborn human being with a rebel angel?

"We have to find out how far this goes," he says. He marches back inside, brushing past Castiel and picking up his keys from the table. "And tell everyone to stay indoors."

"I'll go," Cas says and Dean stops, looks to the angel from across the room.

"Cas-"

"You won't be able to see to drive back; it'll be too dark by then. And I know how you are when you don't know if your car is safe. I'll go and talk to Sheriff McLaren. You stay here."

They stare at each other from across the room until Dean puts his keys back down on the table. He nods to Castiel and the angel disappears with a sound like feathers raining.

* * *

><p>Dean's blind.<p>

It's not grey anymore, not out amongst the trees or on the grass or pressed to his eyelids. It's inside of him; inky black like Lake Michigan full of blood at night or demon's eyes. It digs into his brain so that he's almost convinced he never saw at all, not Sam's bitch face or Bobby's scowl or Castiel's eyes.

He's wedged himself somewhere in the kitchen, sitting on the floor in the corner with the cupboards at his back and side, protecting him. He has the knife in one hand and his other hand palm down on the cold tiles, waiting to feel the tremble of Earth as someone approaches.

And in front of him is a whole lotta nothing.

Castiel is taking a long time to simply tell some dude that it's dark, not that the guy can't have noticed.

But Dean's not freaking out. He isn't.

This doesn't remind him of Hell. In Hell he could see except when Alistair gouged his eyes out. Hell was red and fiery and seeing was just another facet of the torture.

Yet it's so much more real like this.

Dean couldn't even close his eyes for a month after Castiel 'raised' him out without seeing it.

There's the sound of wings beating in the living room and Dean jumps. He slides up the cupboards until he's standing, holding the knife out in front of him.

"Cas?"

Footsteps echo from the living room, passing swiftly into the kitchen and it could be Zachariah or Ruby or Meg or-

"Dean, it's me."

A hand falls on his wrist and he swipes out of instinct. The hand folds around his wrist and tightens.

"How do I know?" Dean's voice trembles its weakness.

"Because, it is me."

Dean snorts and hangs his head. Of course it's Cas.

When he stays silent Cas says; "you liked it when Rhonda Hurley made you try on her satin underwear when you were nineteen years old."

Dean's mouth falls open. It takes him a moment to shut it again.

"You… you…" he stutters before shutting his eyes (no difference) and tries again. "You know about that?"

"You forget, Dean, I know everything about you."

"And why is that?"

"Souls don't look like human bodies in the afterworlds, not to angels anyway. I had to know your soul to find you."

"Oh."

He loosens his wrist from Castiel's hand and slides back down to the floor. Castiel stands in front of him, probably looking to Dean to clue him into what to do. Finally he sits down. He shifts around a lot before he settles.

"So." Dean clears his throat. "Everyone okay?"

"Yes. I used some of my grace to keep them calm. Unfortunately this means I cannot get you out of here."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"You're of no service here, Dean."

"I'm staying."

"Dean-"

"I know I can't help," he snaps and thumps his fist on the tiles. "But I bought this on them and I shouldn't have a get-out-of-jail-free card. I should have to-"

"Suffer as much as they do," Castiel finishes.

"I already used up my card anyway," Dean whispers and leans his head back against the cupboard door.

Neither of them says anything and despite the fact that he knows Cas is there, can feel his warmth and presence, he still can't get a handle on the darkness.

"Cas-"

"I'm here."

A palm folds over his fist. Dean unfolds his hand and lies the palm down on the tiles. Castiel's hand doesn't move and Dean is grateful for the contact.

"How far does the darkness go?"

"Just this town. I have blocked off the entries and exits. No one will be able to get in and hurt themselves in some way."

"Can people still leave?"

"I think it is unwise that they try but it is possible."

"Yeah, don't want the first six car pileup of Smallsville."

He can feel Castiel's pulse through his thumb which has wandered up to Castiel's wrist. It beats smooth and calm, nothing ruffling the angel.

Twice in a row now the angel has been there to comfort him.

"What does my soul look like?"

He doesn't know where the question comes from except for some irritating curiosity and a need to fill the shadows.

Dean can imagine Castiel is thinking about it, head cocked to one side, forehead furrowed, but Dean rambles on anyway.

"A mess, probably. Ripped to shreds and stained with the blood of a thousand other souls. Not what you were expecting of the Righteous Man."

"A mess," Castiel says and Dean's head jerks to the sound of the angel's voice, softer than usual, his eyes immediately searching the darkness for his face and his eyes. "Yes. Ripped to shreds; yes. I picked up the shards of your soul scattered across the plains and the cracks of Hell and I restored you bit by bit. But you were never stained with blood, you were not that broken that you had used others to make you whole."

"Is that how demons are…?"

He doesn't know how to finish that sentence.

"Demons are created when a human soul goes to Hell, is broken apart by torture until they are only the blackest, darkest part of themselves and they agree to torture others. But they are not demons until they begin to take the souls of others that they torture and make themselves whole again. It is a true abomination to take another's soul and you never got that far, Dean."

Dean swallows and looks away from where he knows Castiel's face is. Still he can feel the heat of Castiel's gaze on his.

He can remember it all and it is all so much harder to ignore when he can't see. He can remember hanging from the rack while Alistair stripped him of his skin, knife peeling it back and he did it all one go. But he still hadn't finished. He removed Dean's fingers and toes until he had bleeding stumps. And then he cracked his rips open like a hungry mouth and took his organs, ripped them clean from his body.

He held Dean's beating heart in front of his face and told him he had a piece of Dean now and forever.

"All the souls in Hell are black," Castiel says and his hand tightens over Dean's. "Burnt down to the darkest parts of themselves but you were different. If I did not know your soul already I would've know it was you anyway. It is hard to explain. In my true form I experience things differently. The closest I can come to it is like a storm. You were like a storm; maelstroms of black clouds but you were still there in the thunder and the lightning, defiant and bright. You never lost that, Dean. I promise you."

The darkness is thudding.

Dean doesn't know what to say.

There's wetness on his eyelashes which he won't wipe at because that's admitting it's there. And his heart is banging against his ribcage, fighting for escape and he's searching the darkness, he just wants to see Castiel's eyes even though he can't look at them, he can't see what's there.

His hand is trembling beneath Castiel's and he seizes the muscles, wills it to stop and closes his eyes.

"Dean."

Castiel's voice in the dark, always in the dark with him, building him up piece by piece, sticking him together with grace and plasters.

He doesn't know how to say it; _thank you, _and he doesn't know what to do.

So he kisses him.

It's awkward. Their lips connect but there's nothing else. It's like Dean's four years old and kissing the girl next door; lips puckered and pressed together, a laughable parody of his parents that he had been proud of at the time.

He pulls back and stutters; "That was… that was way off the reservation. I'm sorry."

"No," Castiel hums and he hasn't moved away. "Dean."

And the way he says it sounds like _you don't want to be saved, _it sounds like _I would give anything not to have you do this, _it sounds like the thump when Castiel swung him around and slammed him into the wall, a hand over his mouth, telling him without telling him at all that _I fell for you, I did it, all of it, for you._

Castiel shifts in front of him, a tentative hand on his thigh, another hand hooking behind his neck and Dean leans into it.

Castiel's head is cocked to one side and the tips of their noses brush. The kiss is nervous, their lips ghosting over one another, both open, and then Castiel leans in some more and flicks his tongue across Dean's teeth.

He tastes like the pastry on the bottom of a pie, warm and soft, soaked in juices. Dean whimpers, his hand curls around Castiel's cheek and then Cas pulls back.

Dean can feel the angel's eyes on his and he doesn't open his own.

"Cas," he whispers and there's a need inside of him, hot and pulsing. He shifts, legs wrapping around Castiel's kneeling form and he draws him in again.

This kiss is faster. Castiel's fingers knead at the back of his neck and Dean's arms around Castiel's back, pulling him closer and closer and wanting… wanting so badly.

He fumbles at the angel's tie as the angel's fingers graze over his naked torso, dancing on his skin like snowflakes and the sound of feathers falling, but Dean leans into it and he wants the touch so bad.

They break apart.

Dean pulls the tie off and sets about at his shirt, wrenching at each button. Castiel's hands grow more confident, moulding Dean's skin, creating ripples up his spine and he kisses the deep inset of Dean's collar bone.

When his teeth graze just a little Dean moans and arches against him.

Slowly they slide down, Castiel tugging off his own shirt for Dean, until Dean is beneath him and he loves this, the weight of someone else on him, skin on skin and he pulls at his buckles and kicks his jeans down, feels Castiel do the same until their legs wrap around one another.

They don't stop kissing and when they're not, Castiel fumbling with his trousers (probably having never taken them off before) their lips spirit over each other, Dean biting and eliciting Castiel's moans.

It's when Dean realizes that there are only their boxers between them, and he's so hard he's rubbing against Castiel with abandonment, that he freaks out.

"Wait," he freezes and says to the corner of Castiel's mouth as the angel goes to catch his lips again. "Wait."

Castiel stills.

But he's panting so hard it's like an earthquake against Dean's body. He's rock solid between Dean's legs, pressing to the silk of his boxers and rubbing alongside Dean's own silky erection.

Dean has to swallow and close his eyes to focus. Not that it makes a difference.

"What's wrong?" Castiel asks and God, his voice is earthy like it's been rolling in gravel and rock.

"I'm not even… I… I don't know what I'm thinking. I don't do this with guys."

"I'm not a man," Castiel says. "And these are human restrictions you are placing on yourself."

"That's not…"

Dean thuds his head back against the floor. Every muscle of Castiel's body is like ridges and live wire and even when Dean doubts to the very core of him he can't help but _touch _Castiel.

"Cas, the last time this happened with a man it was…"

Castiel is breathing on his cheek, his face so close Dean can imagine he'd go cross-eyed if he could see him.

"I know," Castiel says and he lays his forehead against Dean's. "It's not going to be like that."

"But what about Jimmy? I can't have it be like it was. I can't make him do this. Not like…"

He can't say _me._

"Dean." Cas sighs and pulls his head away. "Jimmy died when Raphael destroyed me. Whoever made this body, they made it mine."

And that is possibly the hottest thing Dean has ever heard.

His cock does a tiny jump for joy and his hips follow, pressing into Castiel's thigh. Castiel groans against his cheek and kisses him rough, biting at his lips and pushing into Dean.

The angel's fingers hook under his boxers, brushing against his pubic hair and Dean's cock springs free. Dean kicks the underwear off and rubs against Castiel.

Castiel's hand wraps around Dean's and Dean breaks the kiss, wondering what the angel is doing. His hand is taken to the elastic of Castiel's boxers and he can feel the warmth of Cas' cock through them. Castiel lets him go and Dean keeps his hand there, unsure.

"It's not going to be like before," Castiel whispers into his ear before biting at his lobe and Dean's hand slips inside and takes Cas' cock and strokes it, base to top.

Castiel sighs and rocks into his hand and Dean likes that, the power. He grasps Cas, gentle and pulls again and this time Castiel mewls.

He pushes Cas' boxers off and wraps his legs around him.

Their cocks slide up against each other and a sound grows in the back of Dean's throat. He rolls his hand over Castiel's head and Castiel's bones seem to fail him, flopping into Dean. Pre-cum leaks from his cock and Dean smooth's it over both of them until their slick and sliding intrinsically together.

He wraps his arms around Castiel, pulling him and it's like when they were sitting on the sofa and he wanted to be so close to Cas that they were…

"Cas," he whispers. "I want you."

Castiel is rocking into him, hooking his arms beneath Dean's and wrapping them around his shoulder.

"Cas."

"Hold on," Castiel groans into his cheek and then disappears.

Dean can hear him rattling around in the bathroom. He remembers what it feels like to not be so completely surrounded by someone and he has to refrain from touching himself.

Finally Castiel appears again, a presence at Dean's feet and he spreads his legs. Castiel shuffles forward, squirting something.

Dean jumps when he feels Castiel's hand wrap around the base of cock and hold it. He thrusts into it. Castiel doesn't move his hand, just holds him and he's probably smiling.

Dean smacks his head back against the floor.

"Cas," he complains.

He's so hard and he thrusts twice again into Castiel's hand before he stops and realizes that isn't going to work.

He holds himself very still, fingers digging into the lino and it is a few seconds before Castiel moves.

He pulls at Dean, hands slick with pre-cum but his palms still rough enough to make Dean feel every ridge and bump and God it feels so good.

Castiel slides his hand down and then up again and it is all too slow and Dean holds himself so still, his arse hovering above the ground.

"Ready?" Cas says and the words push air against Dean's balls his face is so close.

Dean responds with the same mewl Castiel made before.

"I want you to enjoy this, Dean." Castiel says it as he's pulling at Dean, still too slow.

"Then hurry up."

Castiel chuckles and licks a strip over his balls. Dean twitches, doesn't move. He feels Cas move his head away, no longer breathing on him, but he's still giving Dean the slowest handjob ever.

Then his fingers, wet with lube, circle Dean's entrance, spreading the liquid against him. He pushes the tips of two fingers into Dean, still pulling at his cock.

And Dean can't focus on all the sensations at once so it kind of helps when Castiel pushes his fingers deep enough that it hurts.

"Relax," Cas says and Dean breathes out, splays his fingers on the tiles and closes his eyes.

Castiel's fingers slide further in until their knuckle deep. It burns at the edges, but Castiel seems to know and he rolls his thumb over the slit of Dean's cock, adding that shot of pleasure.

He slides his fingers out and adds a third one, coated in lube and Cas has probably over done it but still Dean hisses as it enters and Cas pulls twice as fast at his cock 'til Dean can't focus.

When he slows Dean finds there's four fingers in his arse and though it burns it's a good burn.

Not the kind like Alistair and Hell.

But he's not thinking about that.

"I'm ready," Dean whispers. He wraps his legs around Castiel's kneeling form and arches into his hand just to show how ready he is.

"Okay," Castiel says huskily and he squirts some more lube before chucking the bottle somewhere. He pulls his fingers free of Dean in a disgustingly hot sound. His hand disappears from Dean's cock.

He places his palms on Dean's arse cheeks and raises him, pulls him a little closer so that Dean can feel him at his entrance.

"Not like before," Castiel says and he slips the head of his cock inside of Dean.

It's a lot bigger than four fingers and that kinda freaks Dean out but he closes his eyes and takes his cock in one hand, doesn't pull on it just holds it.

Castiel pushes into Dean, smooth and wet and slow and Dean reminds himself to breathe and relax. He finds himself clenching which while it provokes the hottest sounds from Castiel he isn't quite there yet.

Castiel stills when he's completely inside of Dean, his balls pressed to Dean's backside. He rubs his thumb over Dean's cock and removes Dean's hand, replaces it with his own.

He rocks his hips into Dean and for a second it scorches and then… he hits a spot like liquid gold. Dean melts, bones and muscles spilling onto the floor and Castiel rocks again, pulls at his cock and Dean rocks with him.

"Oh God, oh God, Cas."

"Don't say that," Castiel says through a groan.

"Sorry, sorry. Jes- ahhh fuck."

Castiel pulls out slow and smooth and only halfway before pushing back in. Dean reaches down and grasps at the angel's thighs, pulling him into Dean when he pulls out again.

"Faster," Dean says. "Fuck me, Cas."

Castiel moans and thrusts into Dean hard.

"Yes, Dean," the angel says and he pulls himself completely free before slamming in and Dean bounces and thrusts with him.

The air is filled with Dean's swearing and Castiel's name and Castiel is making a noise in the back of his throat, humming like he did when he spoke Enochian.

The tiles scratch Dean's back and Dean is making bruises into Castiel's thighs while Castiel bruises his arse cheeks.

Castiel is yanking at Dean's cock a little hard but it gives that edge, that good burn. And every time he plunges back into Dean he hits the golden spot which makes Dean whimper and dissolve.

He grabs Castiel's arm and pulls him forward. He falls onto Dean until Dean's cock is trapped between their bodies, rubbing against Castiel's muscled stomach with every push and pull.

Dean kisses him, sucks at his bottom lip, wraps his legs tightly around Castiel and urges him deeper, harder, faster.

"Dean," Castiel breathes against his swollen lips. "Dean, Dean, Dean."

And Dean crushes the name between them, biting and sucking and wanting Cas deeper in every way.

There's something building up inside of him, waves of heat which rise and rise like a tsunami.

"Cas, Cas, Cas."

And Castiel pulls completely free of him before slamming back in again and again and again.

Dean can't breathe anymore but there is no need. His body is slick with sweat and it only makes his cock thrust smoother between them.

He wants to see Castiel. He removes his hand from Castiel's back and finds his face, his mouth, panting and open. Castiel's lips clamp over his thumb and suck before releasing it again.

He seems to know what Dean wants.

The waves are building inside of Dean, now boiling and bubbling and growing and moving, rushing towards their destination but Dean holds them off.

Castiel's hands fasten around Dean's fingers and he guides them up to the edges of his eyes. He can feel Castiel's eyelids fluttering with each thrust. Castiel's hand falls away, dancing across his chest. He leans down and bites Dean's collar bone.

The waves turn to molten lava and roar, filling Dean's ears completely.

Except for Castiel's voice.

"Dean, close your eyes."

"Wha-?" Dean can't say the word, all his muscles trying and failing to do anything except bring the wave closer and hold it off at the same time.

"Close your eyes-"

Castiel is actually interrupted by his own groan.

"-You'll know when to open them."

Castiel thrusts back into him and he holds himself there, cock rubbing over the spot of molten lava.

Dean slams his eyelids closed.

Castiel pulls out of him and at the same moment that he thrusts back in again his hand crashes down onto the handprint he left on Dean's shoulder.

Something explodes.

Castiel cums, gushing into Dean and there's a light so bright it actually whitens out Dean's vision from behind his eyelids.

But then he opens his eyes.

For a moment he can see. Castiel's hand is pressed to his shoulder and there's fireworks going off inside of him. His body is leaning over Dean. His hair is plastered to his forehead and sticking up in places. His eyes are squeezed shut and there's a name on his lips, so clear it's like it's written there, slanting at the parting of his mouth.

"DEAN!" He screams and then he pulls out of Dean, thrusts back into him and opens his eyes.

And the molten wave's crash over Dean.

But they're not orange or red. They're the white that destroyed Dean's darkness and the crackling blue of electricity at the edges and they're decimating Dean, scattering him into a thousand pieces, a thousand places.

_I picked up the shards of your soul-_

He arches up and cums all over his and Castiel's stomach, muscles pulled so tight and stretched so thin.

_-scattered across the plains and the cracks of Hell- _

Castiel is biting at his collarbone and holding with the barest touch his softening cock and Dean closes his eyes as the centre of the waves whitens him out completely.

_-and I restored you bit by bit._

In the end Castiel is holding him together.

As he always is.

His sight is gone again.

The lights and the blue gone except on the inside of Dean's eyelids, sparking like lightning and mingling like wet paint.

Eventually they wash out and Dean remembers he has a body, his chest rising and falling in a race. Castiel is slumped into him, crushing his chest, arms around him.

All his nerves are frazzled and with each breath his soft cock twitches like it can't bear to even breathe let alone be touched again.

His muscles seize when he raises his arm and strokes his fingers through Castiel's hair.

Castiel turns his head so that his nose no longer digs into Dean's chest.

"I think I could sleep after that."

Dean chuckles.

"So now you believe you can sleep?"

"I had no idea sex was such an exhausting act."

"Hey," Dean says. "I could go all night long."

He pauses, thinks of his poor cock.

"Actually I don't think I could. That was… that was wow."

"Not like before?"

Dean stays silent. How can he explain that it was nothing, _nothing_ at all like before and that it was possibly the best sex, the best orgasm that Dean has ever, ever had?

Because really, it is unexplainable.

"Nothing like before," he assures Castiel. "Nothing at all."

"Good."

Castiel rolls off of him and curls into his side, hooking his leg over Dean's and splaying his arm across Dean's chest.

Dean rolls towards him without dislodging their limbs and listens to the angel breath. Slowly it evens out, his chest barely moving.

When he finally sums up the courage he presses the words with a kiss to Castiel's hair before closing his eyes and joining his angel in sleep.

"Thank you."


End file.
